To Have & to Hurt by Morgan Bridges
Violetta
“Gentlemen,” Carlos calls out to the policemen in Spanish.
I keep my focus on him, more specifically his hands, as the officers approach. Carlos keeps them on the steering wheel instead of dropping them into his lap or to lean on the frame of the open window. It helps me not fidget in my seat as my nervousness escalates. If he takes his hands away from their current position, it could prompt one of the policemen to shoot him because they’d most likely assume Carlos is reaching for a weapon.
A gunfight is the last thing we need.
One of the strangers cautiously walks up to the driver’s side and when he’s no more than a foot away, he leans in and peers inside. His name badge reads Perez and I take an instant dislike to him. “Good evening. Where are you traveling to and where are you coming from?”
“We left the capital, sir,” Carlos says, “and we are headed to Sololá.”
Two of the officers take up positions halfway between the back door and the rear of the jeep, one on each side, enabling them to view me and Tristano. I lower my gaze as soon as the remaining man comes to stand just outside Octavia’s open window. All of them are open, and being inside the vehicle’s metal frame offers no security whatsoever, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable.
I keep my eyes downcast and thread my fingers to hide their shaking. Not only that, I squeeze my hands every time I have the urge to look over at Tristano. He’s carrying a firearm and so is Beni, but I want my own. When Carina asked Tristano for ammunition in order to rescue Rafael, she cleaned and loaded her pistol with great ease. I loved seeing that confident side of her.
At the earliest opportunity, I’m going to ask Beni to teach me as well.
“Who are your traveling companions?” Perez asks.
From my peripheral I catch him running his gaze over Octavia. She doesn’t move, or avert her eyes in deference but continues to stare straight ahead. As much as I admire her for that show of fortitude, Perez’s licentious gaze has disgust crawling along my skin, pricking it with goosebumps despite the warm weather. I doubt I’d remain stoic like her if he looked at me that way. I’d revert to my blank stare when the time came.
And I think it’s almost here…
“This is Mr. Silvestri,” Carlos says with a quick glance in Tristano’s direction. “And he’s brought along his personal security and his assistant. He’s here to discuss business with El Jefe.”
Who is the person referred to as“The Boss?” And will his name give us any protection in this situation?
The lead officer squints and leans a little bit further inside the vehicle. “Is that so?” His gaze darts between Tristano and me, and based on the cool expression on Tristano’s face, I’m guessing he doesn’t speak Spanish and doesn’t know what’s being said. Or he’s unperturbed by these men. If so, his self-assurance is comforting, but I highly suspect he'd be like this regardless.
Carlos nods. “Yes, sir.”
“And what about you?” Perez motions toward Octavia with a simple flick on his wrist. “I recognize your face, but I can’t quite place you.”
Without turning her head she says in a clipped voice, “I work for El Jefe.”
“I bet you do.” The lewd gleam in the man’s gaze brightens while he continues to stare at her. My stomach heaves and I squeeze my hands until the bones in my fingers grind against each other, to keep from reacting in any way. “Are you also an assistant?” he asks her, drawing out the word and leaving no room for misinterpretation.
The officer just outside her door places his forearm on the window ledge and grins. “Yes, what is your job, exactly?”
Octavia doesn’t respond to the rude inquiry. My silence is a lousy substitute for the quiet confidence she has.
“Carlos, can you tell these fine gentlemen I respect them for taking the time to ascertain our safety,” Tristano says in English. He’s thickened his Italian accent as though to add credibility to our story, which is clever on his part. “However, I’m going to be late for this very important meeting if we don’t proceed and I don’t want to keep your employer waiting.”
The driver translates and the two officers within my line of sight share a look. Obviously I can’t see the ones just behind me, but I remind myself that Beni can. He may not know me or genuinely care about my welfare, yet I’m certain he’ll do his best to keep me alive, if only to follow Tristano’s orders.
“We’d be more than happy to let you pass,” Perez says in nearly flawless English, “after you provide a gift of thanks for us securing passage for you.”
Carlos gives the man a curt nod and slowly lets his hands drift away from the steering wheel. He lifts the lid of the center console and grabs a wad of cash before offering it to the officer.
“Thank you,” Perez says, continuing in English. The money quickly disappears in his back pocket and then he goes back to palming his firearm. “Hey, Javier, what do you want as payment?”
The man next to Octavia cocks his head and then grabs a lock of her hair, wrapping it around his index finger. Her shoulders rise when she stiffens at the contact. Carlos darts his gaze between her and Javier, and so do I. Tristano does nothing to hide his blatant stare and though his expression doesn’t change, his lips thin and a deep swallow works his throat.
“I don’t have any more money with me,” Carlos says, “but I can get some if you let me get word to my boss.”
Javier smirks. “I don’t want money. I’d prefer something else.”
The heat from Octavia’s gaze could set him on fire, if that were possible. “Take the money so you can pay for as many women as you want,” she snaps.
Javier yanks on her hair and a stifled cry pierces the air, making my chest tighten painfully for her. “Why pay when I can have it for free?” he says, his tone full of malice.
The officer that was positioned behind me, saunters up to my side of the vehicle and my heartbeat crescendos with every single one of his steps. By the time he’s within arm’s length, my heart is booming loudly in my ears and I’m biting the inside of my cheek to refrain from giving him any indication that I’m scared.
But I am frightened beyond measure because the glint in his eye is identical to Ugo.
Unbidden memories fill my mind and blood slides over my tongue from the force of my bite. The malevolent energy pours from these men like radioactive waves, poisoning me. The atmosphere is exactly the same as the night Carina was assaulted, and every one of my breaths is a struggle, despite the fact my heart is working overtime.
“What’s your name?”
The man’s voice chills me to the core, freezing my soul and turning my blood to shards of ice. I’m physically numb and I vaguely wonder if that’s my mind’s way of preparing me for the atrocities that are sure to come. As though I’m suffering from hypothermia, my body begins to shake, and the trembling intensifies when the officer leans closer.
Close enough for me to see anticipation illuminate his dark gaze.
Lust, in all its depravity, looms over me, and once again I’m powerless to stop it. I’m not sure whether I hate him more for threatening me, or myself for being weak. My fear has rendered me useless again.
“If you want to have your tongue attached to your mouth, you’ll give me your name,” he says.
Against my better judgement, contrary to my terror, and despite my mind screaming, I turn to look at him. My lips part—whether it’s of their own volition or not, I don’t know—and I suck in a tiny breath in preparation to speak. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility these men will harass us and then leave, or else Octavia would’ve told Tristano this trip was a suicide mission. I highly doubt that me giving him an answer will prevent any violence, but I have to try.
Breaking my silence in order to save my life and the lives of those around me is something I don’t have to deliberate. The choice is easy.
But the execution is hard.
The man’s hand shoots out to grab my jaw and he applies enough pressure to have my eyes filling with tears, also forcing my mouth to open wider. “You don’t need a tongue to suck my—”
The sound of a bullet entering a gun’s chamber causes everyone else to freeze in place.
“If you don’t remove your hands from her, I will put a bullet in your fucking head.” Like a sea breeze, crisp and cool, Tristano’s voice glides over me.
The man hesitates.
And that’s all it takes.
The roar of the pistol has me closing my eyes and my ears ringing. A loud buzzing drowns out the distinct popping sounds of weapons being fired. The man’s hand falls away from my face and warm droplets splatter against my forehead and cheeks right before I duck and curl my body inward, making myself as small as possible. Then I cover my ears, and with the last ounce of bravery I possess, I crack one eye open to find Tristano, needing to know he’s alive.
The relief that crashes into me is intense, much more than I thought it’d be. He’s the one who protected me, and still is, so it’s logical I’d rely on him for that reason. Yet, this goes beyond needing him around to ensure my safety.
I wanted him alive for me.
Carlos talks to Octavia, and it takes several seconds for their voices to lose their distorted quality and sharpen into words I can process. I fold my arms, tucking them to my chest, unwilling to move just yet. Just from the way they’re acting I know it’s safe—or relatively anyway—but I can’t force myself to get out of the fetal position.
Tristano doesn’t join the conversation but from the way he tilts his head slightly, I gather he’s listening. Then he holsters his weapons and swings his gaze in my direction.
Right before reaching for me.
He makes a soothing noise as he gently brushes back a lock of hair from my face. “Look at me, Violetta.” When I do he wraps his hand around the side of my neck, his thumb resting just above my rapid pulse. Is he doing that to ensure I don’t get up?
Or is he reassuring himself that I’m alive?
I quickly dismiss the idea. Tristano clearly sees I’m breathing, which makes that thought absolutely ridiculous.
“Are you injured in any way?” he asks. His voice is neutral, yet there’s a urgency in the undertone that catches my attention. When I don’t respond right away Tristano’s lips pull into a frown. But then I mouth the word no and his eyes widen, the silver brilliant and shining with relief. “Very good, ribelle.” he murmurs.
The way he says that to me is something more than affirmation. It’s praise. I never expected him to speak to me in such a manner and although it surprises me, my reaction is what truly shocks me.
Because I reveled in what he said.
The pooling of warmth in my belly swirls before slowly traveling in all directions like molten lava spilling over a volcano's crater. It coats me in a layer of awareness that I’ve never felt before, heating me all over. Yes, I’m attracted to Tristano and yes, even more so now that I kissed him. But this sensation has me wanting to do something I never thought would cross my mind.
To eagerly obey someone; a man from the underworld, no less.
Beni approaches the jeep and studies me from the window. “Is she alright?”
Tristano nods and removes a handkerchief from his pocket. His ministrations are light, almost tender, as he runs the linen over my face.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m giving a big thumbs down to Guatemala’s Department of Safety on my customer survey,” Beni says. “Because the people on the welcome committee were fucking assholes.” His eyes don’t quite sparkle with the usual mischief because they’re smoldering with suppressed anger or aggression. Maybe both.
Carlos puts the vehicle into drive after everyone has climbed in. I remain in the same position, refusing to sit up until they’ve had time to remove the bodies from the road and we’re far from here.
Or at least, that’s my plan anyway.
Tristano ruins it by taking hold of my upper arms and sliding me across his thighs to settle me sideways on his lap. He curves an arm around my lower back, securing his fingers on my waist. With his free hand, he presses his thumb just under my jaw and splays his fingertips on the side of my face, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“You will stop being scared. Do you understand me?”
I stare up at him in a daze. The possessive way he’s holding me makes my mind fuzzy and rational thought leaves me like petals fall from a flower; easily and quickly, with little resistance. My skin heats up, not only from his body heat that suffuses every point of contact between us, but due to his touch.
Tristano is the only man to ever put his hands on me in such a way.
He trails his thumb down the column of my throat and stops directly over my vocal cords. Immediately, my instinct is to swallow, the motion occurring just under his thumb, moving it slightly. In response, he lightly rubs the area.
“Answer me.”
I start to nod, but he tightens his hold, preventing me from doing so.
“Not like that. I want you to verbalize it,” he says, relaxing his grip and tapping my neck. “Or…” Tristano glides his thumb to my bottom lip and then slowly traces the shape of it, making it tingle. “You can mouth the words. Either way, I am done playing this game of yours. I’m not going to acknowledge your gesticulations or read your facial expressions any longer. You’re going to speak to me or make an attempt.”
I mouth okay, my lips forming a perfect circle, and Tristano dips his thumb inside. My tastebuds register the saltiness transferring from his skin to my tongue, as well as the texture of his finger. The pad of it is slightly rough and that fact is more pronounced when he guides it back and forth across the tip of my tongue. Sensation skitters down my arms and spreads, making me shiver.
There’s no way he didn’t feel it, not with my body pressed so close to his.
“These lips and this mouth were not made for silence,” he murmurs.
My nipples tighten and my breaths become thin, each one a losing battle. I can’t do anything except stare at him with both confusion and arousal blooming inside me. Nothing explains this behavior from him except lust, yet I can’t summon the loathing that usually simmers just beneath my skin.
It’s missing, along with rational thought.
Which is why I run my tongue against his thumb.
It’s nothing but a simple flick across the pad of his finger, followed by a circular motion. He inhales sharply and his pupils dilate, creating thin silver rings within his eyes that shine as though polished.
They remind me of handcuffs, and like the metallic restraints, Tristano has captivated me.